A Potion For Pain
by swallowsallow
Summary: Harry goes after Voldemort and finds an Ally in Snape
1. Default Chapter

A Potion for Pain

By Swallow Sallow

            Harry sat up in bed with a start. He absently rubbed at his scar as the sharp pain that had awoken him quickly abated. Harry sighed and eased back into his pillow. He had felt these twinges more and more frequently in the last few months. At first, he had thought of Voldemort when he woke up like this, allowing unpleasant memories to twist themselves into nightmares.

In the last month, since Draco had been found dead under suspicious circumstances, Harry thought of nothing but his Slytherin peer when the scar pained him. His dreams had become almost pleasant, portraying an idealized image of the blonde. Harry would dream of the past, of Draco in his friendliest and most heroic moments. Harry would also dream of things that he had never let his conscious mind embrace.

These dreams would often turn sour, too. Harry would dream endlessly of death scenarios for Draco. While he could not know the truth behind the other boy's demise, he did know who was responsible. Draco may have been misguided and, at times, cruel. However, over the years he had left no doubt as to the nature of his spirit. He had died because he refused to bow to his father's master. Harry knew it.

On this night, Harry did not drift back to sleep immediately, as years of nightmares and visions had trained him to do. Movement and sound around the castle caught his attention. He slipped out of bed and padded barefoot to the Griffindor common room. He had no idea what time it was, but noted that it was late enough that the fire was reduced to a scattering of embers. He took in the sight of a dozen housemates standing throughout the room, all clad in pajamas and mussed hair.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, spotting Seamus standing nearby.

"Not sure," Seamus replied. "I heard talking and screaming. From the girl's dorm, I think"

Harry's eyes swept the room until he saw Hermione making her way across the room. Harry jumped when he heard Ron's voice behind him.

"What the hell is going on here?" the redhead asked, as he descended the dorm steps.

"It's Katie Bell," Hermione informed them, face pale. "Professor McGonagall came in and woke her up. They came down to the common room. I heard Katie scream, but she was gone by the time I got here."

"It's her mum," said Ginny, joining the small group. "I was up reading and I came down when I heard talking. I stopped outside the room when I realized it was the Professor talking."

"Well?" Ron asked, annoyed.

"It's…" Ginny blanched, looking close to tears. "Her mum's dead. That's all I heard. Katie started crying and McGonagall led her out into the hall. I shouldn't have listened."

Several other Griffindors had listened in on the conversation. The information spread quickly around the room, and soon the students were silent. They milled around the common room, speaking in hushed tones or not at all. A few other students wandered down from the dorms and were filled in with what little information was available. Someone prodded the fire back to life and Harry sat near it with Hermione and Ron. He listened to muted conversation around him as the other students speculated about Katie's mom, wondering what had happened and sharing what little they knew about the woman. It was several hours before the common room began to empty as people filtered back up to their dorm rooms.

The next day, Dumbledore made an announcement during breakfast. He acknowledged that Katie mother had indeed died, explaining that he hoped to quell rumors by being upfront with any information that he had. Dumbledore went into a lecture about loss and wartime and the availability of Professors if the students felt that they needed to talk. This was a variation on a speech that the students had heard far too frequently. 

Harry gritted his teeth and tuned the headmaster out.

_'Voldemort,' _he thought. _'After all these years, people refuse to say his name, to say that he is responsible. Maybe, it doesn't need to be said. He's become a given in our lives.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Later that afternoon, Harry sat in the headmaster's office. He peered at the older wizard over a steaming cup of tea.

"That's all there was, Sir," he said. "I only felt it for a minute. I didn't see anything or dream anything. I thought that my scar had woken me, but it was probably Katie…" Harry's voice faltered. He focused his eyes on the tea, trying to lose himself in the depths of the cup.

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "The timing of the pain in your scar was likely a coincidence. I'm afraid that, as Voldemort becomes more active and more aggressive, you will experience more and more of your…bond" Dumbledore nodded at Harry's scar.

"I know, Sir." Harry said, looking thoughtful. Dumbledore waited for the boy to speak, eyebrows raised. "I was wondering, Sir. I mean, I" Harry rubbed at his scar and cleared his throat. He took a deep breath, straitened up in his chair and raised his eyes to meet his Headmaster's. "I don't feel that I will make it to graduation at the point, Sir. I know that Voldemort is gaining power and I will only be more distracted as he…"

Dumbledore waited for a few long seconds before prodding, "Yes, Harry?"

"I think that it's time I fulfilled my destiny"

The headmaster sat back in his own chair, a subtle indication for Harry that he understood the enormity of the statement.

"I have to kill Voldemort. He will only gain power from here on out and I will never have a better chance." Having made his proclamation, Harry averted his eyes, losing some of the power in his voice. "I mean, I have been training all this time and…" his voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't do this anymore."

Dumbledore sat silently for a minute, brows knit.

"I understand, Harry. Although I am loathe to see it, you have a valid point. I made you a promise some years ago. I promised to include you in matters that affect you. We are preparing to take action against Voldemort and his followers. I had planned on waiting until your year graduated. I did not want to explain the absence of certain professors mid term. However, I have come to the same conclusion that you have. Voldemort will not wait. Harry, I believe that he is gathering his followers together for some grand purpose." Dumbledore had to suppress a smile. Harry was trying to hide his fear, but the boy's eyes had grown comically wide. "I do not know what this purpose is, but I intend to find out. Next week, a small group will set out to try and find the location of this gathering and ascertain what is happening."

"But…"Harry stammered. "Professor Snape…"

"Is in a very precarious position, I am afraid. Apparently, Lucius Malfoy has accused him of leading his son away from the dark lord." Harry flinched at the mention of Draco. "Severus is, no doubt, under Voldemort's suspicion. We cannot rely solely on his inside position to gain information. Time is short."

"Who is going in this group?" Harry asked. "I want to go with them."

"Harry…" Dumbledore began.

"I want to go with them," Harry said firmly. "As you say, time is short. If something needs to be done, we both know that I'm the only one who can do it. I have been training for this for two years. I am not going to be more prepared any time soon."

Dumbledore stared frankly at Harry, giving the boy the uncomfortable sensation that his mind itself was being examined.

"Very well," the headmaster said at last. "I will inform Minerva of your decision. Return to my office tomorrow after dinner and we will discuss this further."


	3. Chapter 3

The next evening, Harry met with Dumbledore and his group of scouts. He learned that he would be accompanying Professor McGonagall, Alastor Moody, and another former auror, a serious looking middle aged woman named Lisa Krux. They had a route mapped out, flying to a designated location and then continuing on foot to an isolated area that had, reportedly, had an unusual number of portkeys keyed to it.

Harry enquired after Professor Snape who, he had heard, had been absent from Potions class that day. After some hesitance, Dumbledore explained that Snape had anticipated being ordered to declare his allegiance to Voldemort. The man was called to a Death Eater meeting the night before and, it was safe to assume, had shown his loyalty and agreed not to return to Hogwarts.

"Do not say anything about this to anyone, Harry, not even your friends," the headmaster implored. "We cannot afford panic. We cannot have parents pulling their children out of what is currently the safest location for them."

Harry absorbed this information for a moment, contemplating the gravity of the situation. "Not a problem," he responded with false levity. "It's not as if my friends care where Professor Snape is."

Professor McGonagall stifled a laugh. "Alright, Harry," she said. "I want to make one more thing clear. I understand your reasoning in coming with us, and I agree with it to an extent. By that same token, though, it is vital that nothing happen to you. I expect you to adhere to all possible safety precautions and remain at the base camp that we will establish once we have arrived. Do you understand?" She tilted her head forward to gaze at Harry over her glasses.

"Yes, Professor," he responded, meeting her eyes.

Once the others had left, Dumbledore went over the arrangements again with Harry.

"Pack lightly," he advised. "You will only need clothing and hygiene items. The others have already established who will organize and carry food and magical items. I would ask you to include this in your bag." The wizard handed Harry a small wooden box, the symbols upon it were impossible to make out, and it occurred to Harry that it had probably been shrunk for the voyage. "Be careful with it. It contains potions from Professor Snape's private stores. They are mainly of medicinal use."

Harry took the box and, acknowledging Dumbledore's nod of dismissal, made his way back to the Griffindor common room. When he arrived, Harry filled in his friends to the best of his ability, without disclosing any information that he considered "top secret". Harry had turned this into a running joke, making exaggerated hushing gestures and  hissing "I can't say it's….top secret", in an attempt to take some of the sting out of hiding things from Ron and Hermione.

The week passed in this manner, with Harry attending classes during the day and meetings at night. Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed up late in to the night discussing the coming adventure. When Saturday came, Harry swiftly packed his bag, securing the wooden potions box in the midst of his clothing. He said brief and awkward goodbyes to his friends. Everyone struggled not to make his departure seem long term or significant. Harry made his way to the headmaster's office to meet with the others.


	4. Chapter 4

The voyage itself passed uneventfully. Although they rode their brooms in close proximity, no one was inclined to talk. Harry drifted off into his own thoughts, focusing on the freedom of flying and trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. After two days of travel, the group reached the inn where they had arranged to leave their brooms in order to continue on foot.

They received odd looks from the small village's innkeeper. Harry laughed when McGonagall explained that the keep had been told that they were a group of researches from a London institute. Clearly, their strange group looked like nothing of the sort.

They ate their dinner at the inn and stayed the night, women in one room and men in another. Moody was friendly enough to Harry, but the ex-auror was obviously focused on their mission and had very little to say to the younger man. He spent the majority of the evening reinforcing shielding charms and setting traps around the room.

Harry found himself overflowing with nervous energy. The Inn was so different from Hogwarts or the Dursleys. He was tempted to take a walk and enjoy the countryside, but was unsure if his traveling companions would approve. He lay down on his bed, wishing he had packed a book. However, once his muscles began to relax, he realized how tired he really was. Lying in the inn made him think of the time he spent in Diagon Alley just before his 3rd year. From there his thoughts turned to Sirius Black and, as he drifted off to sleep, to his parents.


	5. Chapter 5

Lily smiled at him from across the row boat, the giant squid slapping his tentacles harmlessly behind her.

"It's getting cold, James," she said, laughing. "Maybe we should go back."

"I'm not James," Harry responded. He looked away from her crestfallen expression to scan the horizon. He could see no end to the lake in any direction. "Which way do we…"

Harry's head whipped back to his mother when he heard her scream. Lily had collapsed to the bottom of the boat and was writhing in agony. He tried to go to her, but his body was frozen. He watched in horror as her voice broke, her face twisted in silent agony.

Lily's screaming resumed a moment later, her voice far too deep. The scenery shifted. Harry was standing in near darkness, Lily's body lay before him, her hair darkening and her body elongating until she became a man in black robes with equally black hair, face pressed to the floor, body trembling with pain.

Harry woke to his own screaming, scratching at his scar with both hands.

"Alright…alright," Moody was standing above him. The older wizard gently grasped Harry's hands, holding them down away from his face. "We're close, aren't we, my boy?"

Harry took several deep breathes, calming himself before nodding. "He's close. And he's angry."

It was several hours before Harry was able to get back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

They continued the next morning, just as planned. The four of them woke early and set out on foot. They quickly left the village, and all sign of civilization, behind. Their journey continued to be uneventful, except for the increased frequency of pain in Harry's scar. They would often have to stop to let him rest and recover. Harry was embarrassed by this, but was even more humiliated when the pain came at night. His dorm mates were used to his occasional "nightmares", but he had never been woken up so often, and had never experienced such vulnerability in front of his head of house.

Harry felt weaker and more inept the longer they went on. His lack of sleep and frequent attacks of pain caused him to slow the group. They moved quietly, and the landscape provided little distraction for Harry. His doubts became more difficult for him to ignore as time wore on. While days before, he had felt that things were coming to a head, he now had difficulty believing that he would be able to affect a change of any sort. Although Voldemort's existence had only been known to him for the last seven years, he found it difficult to envision a world without the Dark Lord. Harry had even more trouble grasping the alternative. His own death.

After two nights of camping under the stars, the group arrived late in the morning at a rock formation which contained a cave of sorts that was to be their home base. The opening was at ground level and was well shielded by the wooded area surrounding it. Harry followed the others inside and surveyed their temporary home. It was small, but sufficient for the four of them to move around comfortably and for Harry, the tallest, to stand erect. A small pile of scorched rocks in the middle of the cave indicated that it had been host to campers in the past.

Harry was too discouraged to protest when, after a quick supplies inventory, Professor McGonagall informed him that the rest of the group was leaving to survey the area and that he was, under no circumstances, to leave the cave. Harry stayed behind obediently. He ventured outside briefly, as a perfunctory act of defiance, to further examine his surroundings. Mostly, Harry sat and contemplated his situation.

His thoughts wavered back and forth throughout the day. For a while, he was sure that he had made a mistake, that he was in over his head, and that he would give anything to be back at Hogwarts with his friends. Then, he would think of Voldemort, and all that the monster had taken from him. He thought of his parents and of Sirius, and wished more than anything that he was on the Dark Lord's trail. He wanted, at those times, to play out his part. He wanted to kill his enemy or die trying.

Dusk was approaching when Moody and McGonagall returned together. The two of them were clearly tired, so Harry set about preparing dinner while they sat and informed him of their findings. Having been warned to avoid possibly detectable magic, he set up two muggle camp stoves and began cooking, falling back easily on his experience doing household chores for the Dursleys.

 There was indeed a gathering of people several miles to the west of the cave. Moody and McGonagall had set out in that direction. The other ex-auror, being younger and able to cover more ground on her own, set off to the East. Moody and McGonagall had been moving quietly through the wooded area when they detected a large amount of magic being used and had followed this lead to a large clearing. They hid themselves in the surrounding foliage, one in cat form and the other moving silently from years of practice in paranoid behavior.

The meadow housed an enormous building that was largely obscured by magical shielding, even to Moody's eye. Localized silencing charms prevented any sound from escaping.

"It's not getting through the barriers that concerns me," Moody told Harry. "It's getting through without being detected. We need to get in and gather more information, if we are to take action."

"Or if we are to make a report of any substance to Albus," Added McGonagall.

Harry had listened in silence, absorbing the information. His stomach clenched at the confirmation that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were nearby. He had been standing and stirring a pot of stew for some time before he felt his professor's eyes on him and looked up to meet them.

"Mr. Potter," she asked. "Did you feel anything unusual today?"

"No," Harry responded. "Not even anything usual. I mean, my scar didn't hurt at all."

"I hope that bodes well for us." McGonagall said, giving Harry a tired smile.

Moody cleared his throat, nodding toward the cave entrance once he had their attention. Harry listened and heard voices approaching, one he recognized as Krux's, the other was too low to make out. Harry reflexively put his hand on his wand, but relaxed at a nod from McGonagall.

Moody rose and, offering his hand, helped McGonagall to her feet. They both exited the cave, only to reenter moments later. Between them, they supported a dirty and haggard looking Professor Snape. Krux darted around them and went to her bag. She pulled out and enlarged a shrunken sleeping mat and smoothed it out on the ground several meters from the camp stoves. McGonagall and Moody lowered Snape to lie on the bag. Snape gave out a pained grunt as he settled on to his back.

Harry's stew boiled over.


	7. Chapter 7

Snape slept, waking briefly late in the evening and taking a few bites of stew at McGonagall's insistence. Harry was disconcerted by the presence of his Potions professor.  While He had long since given up his suspicions of his teacher, he still saw the man as a cruel and imposing figure. Having a weakened, and apparently helpless, Snape lying on the floor nearby seemed wrong.

Moody, McGonagall and Krux held a whispered conference near the back of the cave, out of Harry's hearing. He finally set up his sleeping area near the cook stove around midnight. He lay listening to the woods outside. A breeze rustled the trees from time to time, drowning out the voices of the rest of the party. Harry did not drift off to sleep until everyone else finally rolled out their mats over an hour later.

The pain that woke Harry was sharp and blinding. It drove any memory of his dreams out of his mind, as well as any awareness of his surroundings. Harry's lank body drew in upon itself convulsively and he screamed without self consciousness. When the pain abated somewhat, he became aware of the dark cave around him and of the sounds of movement.

"Is he alright?" It was Krux's voice.

"I think so," responded McGonagall. "How about Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Moody bent over him.

"Your scar paining you, my boy?"

Harry nodded and then groaned as another milder wave of pain came over him. He heard an answering grunt across the cave and realized that it was Snape. The pain intensified and Harry's hand rose to press against his scar. He gasped for breath, willing his muscles to relax as his legs and back threatened to cramp with the tension. After a few minutes, the pain passed. Harry was relieved to see that Moody had moved away, not wanting to embarrass him further.

Harry wondered idly what time of night it was. He still felt completely exhausted and was already drifting back to sleep. His last thoughts as he nodded off were of Snape, lying across the cave. Somehow, it felt significant to Harry that Snape was also experiencing the pain of Voldemort's anger. There was a kind of comfort in having someone share his experience that felt more real than the concerned sympathy of his dorm mates.

The next morning, Harry awoke to a high pitched wheezing sound. He was irritated for a moment, before he became aware of his surroundings and came fully to consciousness. The cave was bright with mid morning sun. Harry sat up and saw that he was nearly alone. The others had apparently already left to implement whatever plan they had arrived at the night before.

Snape lay on the sleeping mat facing toward the wall. His legs were pulled up in a somewhat childlike display of tension. The wheezing noise was emanating from his greasy head. Harry smiled at this, wondering at how air could possibly be impeded when moving through Snape's enormous nose.

Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the dark form of his professor. He felt as though he were doing something wrong. Perhaps because Snape had hurled a jar at his head the last time he had seen his professor in a vulnerable position.

He got himself up and, deciding not to bother with a change of clothes, slipped on his shoes and went outside to urinate. He returned inside and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out one of the chocolate frogs he had smuggled along, wincing at the noise of the wrapper.

Harry sat on his own sleeping mat, facing the cave entrance in an attempt to avoid staring at Snape. He contemplated making a hot breakfast in order to have something to do. Settling upon the chocolate as a more attractive alternative, he began to unwrap it. He pulled gently at the wrapper, wincing again as it crackled loudly without opening.

The snoring stopped abruptly. Harry glanced up at Snape to see the man shifting. Snape turned on to his back, face still hidden by lank hair. The professor sighed softly before his breathing again evened out.

Harry grasped the chocolate wrapper and yanked, ripping it in two and spilling a frog on to his lap. Harry slapped his hands over the treat and again peaked at Snape who appeared to be sleeping soundly. Harry took a bite of his frog.

"Potter," Snape rasped. Although the sound was quiet, Harry started violently. He sat frozen with half-chewed frog in his mouth. Snape turned his head toward Harry in a slow and pained movement. Hair slid from the Potion Master's face to lie limply on the floor. He squinted across the room at Harry.

"Erm…yes?" Harry said, gagging on hastily swallowed chocolate.

Snape closed his eyes. Harry wasn't sure if the man was exasperated or merely exhausted. Harry stood, dumping the remains of his frog onto the mat, and crossed the room. He stood near the professor uncertainly, not wanting distance to strain Snape's voice yet feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of looming over the older man.

Snape lay silently, eyes remaining closed. Harry stood and fidgeted for nearly a minute, wondering if the man may have fallen asleep again. The Potion Master seemed almost human as he lay quietly on the floor. Harry felt as though he were looking at an entirely different man. Snape took a deep breath.

"It is a wonder," he said softly. "that your foolish need to seek out danger has gone to this extreme," Snape's voice shook with the effort of speaking. "It is more boggling still, that the supposedly responsible adults in your life have apparently decided to aid you in your suicide."

Harry was suddenly able to reconcile the man lying before him with the snarky bastard that was his Potions Professor. The man was tired and weak, but he was undoubtedly Snape.

"I suppose," Snape continued. "That Albus Dumbledore himself supported your coming here?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again. He considered explaining his reasoning regarding the mission to Snape, but experience told him that this would only earn him further scorn. Besides having little wish to be mocked, as he was already uncertain as to whether he was doing the right thing, Harry had a bizarre desire to save his professor the energy.

"I suppose I see Minerva's reasoning in bringing you along." Snape went on. "I am sure that you could be of great use on a long journey. As a pack animal."

"Oh," Harry said. "Speaking of which," He paused for a moment, mentally patting himself on the back for ignoring Snape's jibe, a skill that he had been working on in the past year. "The Headmaster asked me to carry along a box of potions. I don't know what's in there…"

Snape opened his eyes and looked at Harry with an unguarded and hopeful expression. It was somewhat disconcerting to the younger man, as he had only experienced glares and sneers from his professor in the past.

"I'll get it." Harry said, and crossed to his bag to retrieve the box. He returned to Snape and kneeled next to him, placing the box on the floor and pulling out his wand.

"That will not work," Snape informed him. Snape shifted onto his side to face the box, wincing at a pain in his ribs. He slowly extended a hand to the side of the box and, with one slender finger, traced an intricate and graceful pattern over a symbol on the lid. Rather than ballooning up, like other magically shrunken objects Harry had seen, the box seemed to blink out of existence for a moment before returning to its natural size.

Snape flipped two brass clasps open and exposed the contents of the box. The inside was broken up by wooden dividers, with four unlabeled vials resting in each section. Snape lifted his head with considerable strain, trying to improve his view of the box's contents. Harry felt an instinctual desire to help, but could not think of a way to do so. He certainly wasn't going to hold up Snape's head. Snape closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to clear his vision. He focused again on the box.

Snape began muttering under his breath, apparently inventorying the potions. After a minute, he slowly lowered his head down to the mat and eased onto his back. He reached into the box and fumbled at the vials with a shaking hand, brow knitting with concentration.

"Sir?" Harry said softly, reminding Snape of his presence.

"White," Snape said, withdrawing his hand from the box. He managed a weak sneer. "Second section from the left along the back row."

Harry peered into the box and removed the appropriate vial. He held it out to Snape who took it with a trembling hand. When Snape made an attempt at removing the cork, his grip slipped and the vial was only saved by Harry's seeker reflexes. Harry removed the cork and met his Professor's eyes. Snape sighed in resignation.

"How much do you need?" Harry asked.

"Half," Snape whispered.

Harry extended the hand holding the potion, concentrating on keeping it steady when he too began to tremble. Snape closed his eyes, mouth pulling down in displeasure. He parted his lips and allowed Harry to tip half of the potion between them. Harry quickly re-corked the vial and returned it to the box, flipping the lid shut and rising to his feet. Snape's eyes remained closed, his face impassive except for a sickly pink tinge in his cheeks. The color was a washed out shadow of the heated flush that Harry wore.

Harry retreated to his side of the cave, overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the situation. It was just too strange a position to be in, having to help a teacher, having to help _Snape_, in such an intimate fashion. He retrieved his chocolate from the mat and, sitting down, began nibbling on it. He avoided looking in Snape's direction and, by the time he was finished eating, the blush had faded. Harry's mind drew a parallel between Snape and the dementors he had encountered in his third year. The effects of the man and the creatures were similar, he reflected, so it made sense that chocolate would be the counter for both. He smiled at the thought.

As the minutes past, Harry began to feel uneasy again. He had no desire to move from his spot on the cave floor. He did not want to risk interacting with, or even looking at Snape. However, his muscles began to protest his sitting rigidly in place. Harry also began to feel some ticklings of guilt. Snape was injured, probably tortured mercilessly by Death Eaters, and Harry should at least offer to bring him some food.

He glanced in Snape's direction and saw that he was still lying on his back. Harry thought that he was sleeping for a moment, before he realized that the Professor's lips were moving. Snape was talking rapidly. Harry watched him for a few moments and it occurred to him that it was a chant of some sort. Snape was weaving a spell around himself, probably boosting the power of the potion he had just taken.

Decided to take a cue from his Professor, Harry relaxed on to his own sleeping mat, removing his glasses and placing them on the floor beside him. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. Once he was able to ignore the sore muscles in his back and legs, he began working on one of the meditations he had practiced for Occlumency lessons with Dumbledore. The headmaster had suggested that he give his mind a focus in order to relax, rather than attempting to empty it altogether. Dumbledore had instructed Harry to concentrate on something joyful. The old wizard's suggested that every young man should find sufficient pleasure in envisioning the taste and texture of their favorite candy. The Headmaster's expression had become wistful and unfocused as he enumerated the fine qualities of butterscotch that one could evoke with proper concentration.

Harry, finding that candy did not invoke pure bliss, chose another tact, taking a suggestion from a book on peaceful meditations that Hermione had dug up. A mother's perfect love. He envisioned himself surrounded by the warmth of this love, a love completely without judgment or condition. As the feeling became more and more real and tangible, Harry's muscles began to relax. His body felt pleasantly warm.

When Harry opened his eyes, it was late afternoon. Meditation was almost always a bed time activity for him and habit has caused him to drift off to sleep. Harry stretched and sat up. His stomach, already feeling hollow, grumbled loudly when he caught the scent of garlic.

Harry saw that Snape's blurred form was up and moving. Putting on his glasses, he observed the older man bent over a boiling pot, meticulously adding pinches of powder from his hand, pausing to stir and sniff the concoction. Despite himself, Harry smiled at the image. The Potion Master was brewing lunch.

"That smells good," Harry offered hesitantly.

Snape nodded absently. "As I am trying to regain my strength, I thought it best to have something descent to eat, rather than wait to see what sort of slop you would come up with if you ever deemed to raise your spoiled hide out of bed."

Harry shrugged, considering the statement to be fair, if a little underestimating of his cooking abilities. After a moment, Snape glanced up at Harry, disappointed that the boy had not offered him fodder by trying to defend himself.

"Just what is your function on this little excursion, Potter? Is Dumbledore concerned that the Dark Lord might challenge his little team of spies to an impromptu Quidditch match?"

"I asked to come," Harry responded evenly, earning him a snort from Snape. "It's the prophecy. You know about it, right?" He took Snape's exasperated sigh as an affirmative. "When Dumbledore told me…"

Harry's voice trailed off as pain flared in his scar. It was minor, compared to the night before, but it was enough to blur his vision and elicit a groan. The pain eased and Harry looked up to see Snape bent over and grimacing, holding his forearm to his stomach. After a moment Snape straitened. He knelt to grab a bowl from the supply box that sat near the stove. Serving himself a helping of the soup he had prepared, he retreated to sit on his mat.

Harry stood looking at him, lost in thought. He considered the pain that he shared with his Professor. It occurred to him that Voldemort might be looking for Snape. Perhaps, Harry's scar was reacting to the Dark Lord's anger.

"What are you gawking at?"

Harry was startled by Snape's voice and he flushed when he realized that he had been staring. His stomach chose that moment to give another loud rumble.

"For the love of heaven, Potter, it's not poisoned."

"Oh…thanks," Harry said weakly, taking Snape's words as the closest the man would come to a polite offering of soup.

The two sat and ate in silence. Harry was impressed to find that the soup was delicious, a large feat considering their limited supplies. As he reached the bottom of his bowl, he heard noise outside. Within seconds, McGonagall Moody and Krux entered the cave. McGonagall nodded her greeting to Harry before turning to Snape.

"I see that you are feeling better. You had no serious injuries?"

"No. I am nearly completely healed. However, I am receiving…messages."

McGonagall seemed to understand, looking concerned.

"We need a full report from you, especially regarding anything you know about the wards around the structure where the Death Eaters are gathering. We have made very little progress so far." At this, Moody gave an annoyed snort. Apparently, the reconnaissance team's day had been dull. "Do you think you will be up to beginning to journey back to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Back to Hogwarts? Why would I go back now? No, I am far more useful to Dumbledore here. I am your best chance to get through those wards."

"I think that Dumbledore should be consulted in that regard." McGonagall replied.

"Well, unfortunately," Snape replied in a patronizing tone that Harry was quite familiar with. "Dumbledore is not here and we have no safe way of consulting to him. Now, if you want to waste all of our time by having me trek all the way back to the school I will, of course, defer to your judgment."

McGonagall sighed. "Why don't we leave the decision for now? First thing is first. What _happened_ to you, Severus? Obviously, your role has been uncovered. Did you escape from You-Know-Who? Does he know that you are alive?"

"I am sure that he knows. We do have a rudimentary communication system," Snape waggled his left arm at McGonagall, looking a bit silly. "I don't believe he cares much either way, though. He is too arrogant to worry about his pet Potion Master. He released me of his own accord. I was, as you saw, not in the best condition after he and I had our…discussion. I suppose he was leaving me to either die out here, or return to Dumbledore as a warning."

Snape paused, and seemed to suddenly become aware of everyone's focus on him. He scowled when he met McGonagall's concerned eyes.

            "Shall we talk about those wards, then?" He said.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry listened to the discussion. Many of the techniques and terms that they spoke of were unfamiliar to him. Despite years of training, the older witches and wizards had infinitely more magical experience than him. Hours later, after talking through a cold dinner, the elders had formed a plan that they would begin implementing the next day. It involved setting up some sort of distortion glamour to interfere with Voldemort's wards as well as using Snape's dark mark to try and track him. Beyond that, Harry understood very little.

            Once serious matters were wrapped up, Moody and Krux got into a nostalgic conversation about their time as Aurors. Harry's interest waned quickly, as his taste for stories of adventure was not what it had been when he was a child. Feeling restless, Harry got up to work on cleaning the dishes from dinner. Snape, also needing to remove himself from the conversation, settled down near Harry to take a needless inventory of his potion vials.

            "Why?" Snape said in a low voice. Harry looked over, wondering if the man was speaking to himself. Snape continued to rifle through the potions, holding one up now and then to swirl it. "Why did you ask to come along?"

            "Oh." Harry said in an equally low voice. "Uhm. The prophecy. It's clear that Voldemort is not going to wait to try and…er…rise to power. He is only going to gain more support and be harder to stop. I feel him." Harry felt as if he were babbling. He certainly had not meant to give Snape a thorough answer, but felt the need to explain himself. "It's very…distracting. I want to face him now. While I still can" Snape's eyes darted up to give Harry an ascertaining look. "I mean, one of us is going to kill the other. That means that this will not be over until one of us is dead. So, I need to fulfill that destiny. Do my best to kill him. If I die trying, it will at least open up the door for his defeat once my role is complete."

            Snape snorted, shaking his head. For a moment, Harry thought he would not respond and he began to feel a little embarrassed for having said so much.

            "Well," Snape snapped loudly, making Harry jumped. "Aren't we the little hero?"

            Snape whipped his head toward the rest of the group as if to say something. When the older wizard froze, his look of disgust melting into one of anger, Harry followed the direction of his gaze. Everyone was looking at the two of them. McGonagall wore an amused smile.

            "What?" Snape drawled.

            "Nothing," The witch responded pleasantly. "It's just nice to see the two of you talking."

            Harry thought that he actually heard Snape growl. The Potion Master was careful to avoid saying anything to Harry for the rest of the evening. Harry finished what cleaning he could in the cave and, taking soap and shampoo with him, went out to wash hastily in the creek that ran nearby.

            That night, Harry meditated again, falling quickly and easily to sleep.

            He dreamt of Hogwarts. The next day, all he would remember of his dream would be sitting down in charms class. Next to him, where Hermione normally sat, was his mother. He smiled and tried to say hello to her. The words came out all wrong. She looked at him with disgust and called him something nasty. Later, Harry had trouble remembering, but he thought she might have said _Snivellus_.

Harry awoke in the early hours of the morning to searing pain. His scar hurt so badly that he saw red, although he was still aware of his surroundings. For a moment, the pain eased. Harry whimpered in frustration when it began to build again. A minute later, Snape appeared above him, an unmistakable black and white blur in Harry's vision. Harry felt an odd disappointment to find that no one was sharing his pain. The blur knelt beside him and Harry felt something cold at the corner of his mouth.

After a moment, realization dawned and Harry parted his lips to accept the potion. It tasted strongly of cinnamon. Instantly upon swallowing the liquid, a sensation of warmth spread throughout Harry's body. His muscles relaxed and the agony in his head faded to a dull throb. Harry closed his eyes in relief.

"Thank you," he whispered into the dark, although he had no idea if anyone was still nearby.

Sleep claimed him quickly and Harry woke with the others later in the morning, feeling refreshed. His eyes sought out Snape when he first put on his glasses, wondering if further thanks were owed. Snape diligently averted his gaze from Harry, who immediately thought better of trying to talk to the older wizard.

McGonagall, Moody, and Krux ate quickly and readied themselves to go.

"Isn't Professor Snape going with you?" Harry whispered to Moody when the ex-auror passed nearby.

Moody shook his head, tapping his left forearm. "No. Too detectable."

Harry sighed. He would have liked to understand what was being planned, but did not want to delay the group. He certainly was not going to ask Snape for details.

Once the others left, Harry and Snape spent the morning in silence. Snape, despite his healed appearance, was still fatigued and spent most of his time resting. His clothes were still torn and filthy and his hair was greasier than ever, forming a stringy helmet around his skull. Harry wondered if the man had any sense of personal hygiene.

When mid day came, Harry hurried to begin preparing lunch. He was desperate for something to do and he wanted a chance to prove Snape wrong about his ability to cook. He rifled through the cooking supplies trying to find something more interesting than soup to make. As he searched, he began to feel some pain in his scar. It was not the searing pain that often woke him. It was, in fact, so mild that it was almost an itch. With the sensation came the familiar feeling that often accompanied "transmissions" from Voldemort. Harry was used to this, after years of receiving both intentional and unintentional messages from the Dark Lord. He had reached a point in his training where he was easily able to tune out these milder images.

Harry glanced toward Snape, wondering if the older man was feeling it too. Snape's eyes caught his and looked away quickly.

Harry continued fiddling with the kitchen supplies for a minute before he worked up the courage to speak.

"Do you feel him?" He asked.

Snape sighed in irritation. "You know I do, Potter."

"No," Harry responded. "I mean, beyond the physical sensations. Can you tell what he's feeling sometimes? See what he's seeing."

Snape was silent for a long time.

"I do not see how that is any of your concern."

Harry had a rude reply ready to give to that comment. He wanted to tell Snape that it was, indeed, not his concern. That there was no chance that he, or anyone else, could possibly have any concern about Snape. Harry bit his tongue for as long as he could.

"Damn it!" He snapped finally, taking a step toward the older man. "Why do you have to make this difficult?"

Snape looked at Harry, raising an eyebrow.

"We are both stuck here, Professor," Harry went on. "We both have to sit here doing nothing while the course of our lives and the fate of the wizarding world is decided by outside forces." Snape snorted and muttered something about 'dramatics'. "Why do you have to make it harder?"

"I am not the one making this more difficult," Snape replied evenly. "You are the one who insists upon _talking _to me."

Harry made a (rather immature) noise of frustration.

"I am not one of your little friends, Potter, make no mistake. I am not your confidant, nor am I responsible for your entertainment. My only obligation to you consists of making sure that you do not wander off and get yourself killed."

Harry considered this, tempted to walk out and leave Snape to explain. However, his desire for security outweighed his desire to annoy his Potions Professor. Harry realized, after a few moments, that he was still face to face with Snape. He sighed and turned away, catching Snape's satisfied smirk out of the corner of his eye.

Some time later, McGonagall entered, followed by Moody and Krux. She shook her head at Snape.

"It is not going to work," She told him. "We are going to have to do this simultaneously. There is no way for us to cast anything in the vicinity of that building without a good chance of alerting You-Know-Who to our presence."

"Tomorrow, then." Snape said. "We will have to do it quickly. Get there and get started."

McGonagall and nodded her agreement. "However," She added. "I still do not feel comfortable having you anywhere near that place. If you are detected…well, it's just not a good idea. You and Moody will remain behind and work on getting through to…him. Krux and I will take the physical approach. Once we get the glamour in place, we will gather what information we can and meet back here. I will need you three," at this, she met Harry's eyes. "ready to head out quickly, if we need to."

"Are we going to walk back the way we came?" Harry asked.

"Possibly," McGonagall responded. "If the Death Eaters are alerted to our presence, we will most likely be apparating instead."

Dinner was prepared and eaten in near silence. Harry glanced at his companions from time to time, trying to get a read on the situation. Although, he was starting to understand their intentions a little better, he still had very little idea of the implications of their plans. Obviously, Snape was going to try and either distract, or gain information from, Voldemort. The Potion Master's Occlumency skills would serve well, not to mention his direct connection to the Dark Lord through the mark on his arm. Harry wondered what would happen if their attempts to infiltrate the Death Eater camp were detected. Were they in immediate danger of being caught and killed tomorrow? Would their actions force Voldemort to begin his war earlier than planned?

When the inhabitants of the cave prepared for bed, Snape looked over to Harry and waited to catch the younger man's eye. Harry had just eased down onto his sleeping mat. Once he had Harry's attention, Snape shook his head, gesturing to the floor near his own mat. Harry gave him a quizzical look, earning him a roll of Snape's eyes.

"I do not feel like crawling across the floor every night" Snape said, gesturing at the potions box.

"Oh," Harry said softly, gathering up his sleeping mat and moving it to Snape's side of the cave. He placed the mat several feet away from his professor's, hoping that the man would not snore again.

Harry did not even attempt to meditate that night and it took some time for him to sleep. Once again, that sleep was disrupted by intense pain. Harry had the presence of mind to attempt to stifle his cries. He was partially successful, turning his head into his mat and moaning loudly. After what seemed like an eternity, he felt something cold being pressed into his hand. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry lifted his head and downed the contents of the vial.

Warmth flooded his body. Harry felt relaxed and very drowsy. He squinted into the darkness and made out the fuzzy shape of Snape's hand held out to him. Harry handed Snape the empty container. Due to his lack of sight and fatigue, it was necessary for his hand to remain skin to skin with the older man's for several seconds to ensure that the glass would not drop. Snape's hand seemed far too cold to Harry. Harry felt a reaction to this touch that was unsettling. He dropped off to sleep before he was able to analyze it.

That night, Harry dreamt vividly of kissing Draco Malfoy.


	9. Chapter 9

The morning was a frustrating one for Harry. He awoke early when McGonagall and Krux began moving about the cave and he was unable to get back to sleep. He had the opportunity burn off some nervous energy after they left by mixing and heating warm cereal. Harry and Moody ate in silence while Snape inventoried his supplies and began preparing items for the day. Snape did not eat.

Harry sat and watched Moody finish his preparations while he finished his breakfast. He alternated between guilt and anger, having to sit aside without being able to assist the two older wizards. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not notice immediately when Snape and Moody began chanting. They sat facing each other on the cave floor. Snape held his wand pointed toward a pale colored rock that lay on the ground between the wizards. A barely perceptible stream of light flowed from his wand to the stone and, after a minute, Harry could see that the stone itself had begun to glow.

Harry forgot his resentment as he watched, fascinated. The spell was like none that he had ever performed. Harry rubbed impatiently at an itch on his forehead. Moments later the itch became a sting, clearly originating from his scar. Harry's stomach knotted in panic. Something was definitely happening and he doubted that the timing was coincidental. He opened his mouth twice to speak, to tell Snape and Moody what he was feeling. Although panic was beginning to grip him, he could not bring himself to speak, fearing the consequences of interrupting the spell.

Harry watched the beam of light emanating from Snape's wand brighten and intensify. The beam split, pieces of it zigzagging up Snape's arm like an electrical current. The energy seemed to focus around Snape's left forearm, as if flowing into the Dark Mark through his robe. Harry found it more and more difficult to focus his eyes on the Professor. The room appeared to be getting progressively brighter and his view became washed out.

"What on Earth…" It was Moody's voice, sounding alarmed. Harry turned his head toward the sound, but he could barely make out the Ex-Auror's form.

Harry stood quickly and staggered toward the older men. Other voices soon joined Moody's, dim and far away sounds that Harry could not decipher. The cave walls seemed to fade, only to come back into sharp focus a few moments later. The bright light was receding and, as it did, Harry ascertained what was happening. The room was not glowing. His vision was obscured by a crackling beam of energy, flowing from his own scar through Snape's forearm to the stone on the ground.

Snape and Moody stood staring at Harry and the spell was fading now that their energies no longer fed it. The light dimmed and, after nearly a minute, died out altogether. Harry sat down, hard.

"What," Harry's voice cracked and he finished in a whisper. "was that?"

A long silence answered him. Finally, Snape spoke.

"That," He responded, his voice low, even and dangerous, "was a failed spell. One that probably alerted the Dark Lord to our presence here." Harry, still dazed, looked up to find that his professor was standing directly over him, face contorted with rage. "That," Snape continued, nearly shrieking now. "Was probably," these words were yelled. "our fate being sealed. Any moment now we could be surrounded by Death Eaters!" Snape was outright screaming, and Harry was sure he felt flecks of spittle land on his face.

"Well, it wasn't MY fault." Harry screamed back, climbing unsteadily to his feet. "I don't even understand what happened!"

Harry stood facing Snape, his nose inches away from the older man's.

"You ABSOLUTE child," Snape's breath was acrid and stale on Harry's skin. "We are probably going to die and you want to stand here making sure that you don't get any of the blame!"

"YOU'RE the one who started yelling at ME, you prick." Harry stopped and blinked, having shocked himself by his own outburst and having suddenly become very aware of how close he was to his Potions Professor. Moody let out a soft gasp at Harry's words and both men whipped their heads around to face him. He stood several feet away from the pair, good eye round with shock. The man's lips were pursed together tightly and, if Harry was not mistaken, he was desperately suppressing a grin. Harry caught himself trying to smile back.

"Well," Moody said. "We don't appear to be surrounded by homicidal Death Eaters just yet."

Harry turned and examined the room, more to assuage his discomfort than to look for intruders.

"So," Harry said softly, with a nervous glance at Snape. "What do we do? Should we leave so that we don't get trapped here?"

"No." Snape said. Harry waited a moment to see if there was a further explanation, but the man was apparently just being contrary.

"Right," Moody said finally. "If they don't know our location, we're safest here. I'm going to go stand outside and see anything looks off."

"Can't we set wards?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Potter. We have been avoiding all use of magic for no reason whatsoever." Snape's was nearly yelling again.


	10. Chapter 10

Thank you so much to those who reviewed! I appreciate the tips and suggestions and it's great to know that someone is reading this!

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Harry watched Moody leave and then settled down on his sleeping mat, feeling very drained. His scar soon began to hurt again. Harry lifted his head to see Snape sitting on his own mat. Snape met his gaze and nodded, lifting his left arm to acknowledge that he too felt the sensation.

"He's looking for us." said Harry softly .

"Yes. Albus' foolishness in allowing you to come along may not have killed us just yet." There was more fatigue than venom in Snape's voice. "You never should have come."

The statement was made without malice. Harry, not knowing how to respond, swallowed and lowered his head back down to the mat. He closed his eyes, letting the pain in his head wash over him, until it was too much to take in silence. He gasped and bit his lip, trying to maintain his dignity. The pain grew, intensifying into sharp pains that radiated down Harry's spine, causing the muscles in his back to twitch and cramp. It seemed to go on for hours.

Harry forced his eyes to open, hoping to see Snape standing over him with a vial. He turned his head to see his professor bent over his arm, clutching the mark, grimacing in pain. Harry found himself on his hands and knees, crawling toward Snape and the box containing his potions. He reached for the box, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

"There is no more." Snape whispered.

Harry lifted his face to Snape's and nodded his understanding. His strength, physical and emotional, failed him and he collapsed, curling into a fetal position by Snape's knees. Harry found that the pain was easing and he allowed his tears to flow freely, mixing the dirt into mud at his cheek. Snape lifted a shaking hand and placed it on Harry's back and moving it in a hesitant circle.

Harry gasped and stiffened. The small comforting gesture was as much physical affection as he had ever been given, and Harry was shocked that it felt so incredibly good to be touched like that.

Snape pulled his hand up quickly, holding it frozen above Harry's body.

"What?" He demanded sharply. His tone was irritated, but Harry could not stop himself from grinning broadly at what was, for Snape, a show of concern.

Harry rolled on to his back and Snape laid back to glare at the ceiling.

"No, it's just…" Harry began, trying to temper his smile. "Usually… well…people don't…touch me very often."

Harry was startled when Snape uttered a short barking laugh. "Me neither." He responded, causing Harry to laugh in return.

Harry was surprised to wake up in the dark. He had drifted off to sleep lying next to Snape. Harry moved his head, feeling sore where his glasses had been pressed against his skin. After a few minutes his eyes adjusted and he saw Snape's dark form stretched out next to him. Staring at Snape, Harry began to imagine feeling the man's long fingers on his back again. His thoughts turned to Voldemort and the threat of being discovered. He shivered, and felt a strong urge to move closer to Snape and seek whatever security or comfort the man might be willing to give.

Harry removed his glasses and slept again, waking when the dawn was barely perceptible. His eyes adjusted quickly and he saw that Snape was missing. Sitting up and looking across the room, he was relieved to see that everyone else was present and sleeping peacefully. Harry stood and walked outside to urinate. The air had a chill to it and Harry wanted to lie back down on his mat, but he resisted when it occurred to him that he still saw no sign of Snape.

Squinting through the surrounding trees, he looked for any movement, but soon gave up on trying to bring dark objects into focus. He began to walk, trying to find any indication of recent movement through the woods. Aided by the brightening sky, Harry spotted Snape by the creek. He was still some distance away, and the man's back was turned. Snape was stripped to his trousers, washing his face in the water. The man's pale skin seemed to glow in the dim morning light. Harry could make out the criss-cross pattern of scars, old and new, that marred the flesh of Snape's back.

It occurred to Harry that Snape, a currently hunted Death Eater, was probably very aware of his environment at the moment. Flushing at the thought that his presence had been detected, Harry turned and hurried back to the cave. He reclaimed his sleeping mat and closed his eyes, wondering how long he would have to wait until the others woke, eager to find out how McGonagall and Moody had faired.


End file.
